


Timeless Wilderness

by FeelsVomit



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crossover, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Swearing, boat loads of sexual tension, i stuff this full with OCs, lots of fighting, slow build John/Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsVomit/pseuds/FeelsVomit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SuperWhoLock: Set in Season 5 Supernatural and before Reichenbach Fall, and after the Hound of Baskerville.<br/>Time is slipping away; the Doctor is counting down till his final hours. The Winchesters are desperately trying to stop the apocalypse. Sherlock is playing a deadly game. Time is a cruel mistress who waits for no man. Their fates are carved out in stone; they are all fighting a losing battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restless

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged major character death but this fanfic involves Sherlock and Supernatural. So what's dead doesn't always stay dead.  
> And this is my first fanfiction so enjoy!

_“Dreams and restless thoughts came flowing to him from the river, from the twinkling stars at night, from the sun's melting rays. Dreams and a restlessness of the soul came to him.” ― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha_

The cold night wrapped around the world. The bleak stars light shone down; their cold beauty haunting. The moon sailed across the sky. A few clouds floated across the sky. A few cars were driving down the main road, their engines roaring. The hum of electric lights filled the town of Dover. People lay sleeping and dreaming. Others awake in the nightmare around them.

Dean sat at the end of the lumpy motel bed. He stared in to the bottom of the empty beer bottle before him. It was sometime after midnight. Dean only had light from the alarm clock and a small bedside lamp. Dean sat there his mind going through the motions. He couldn’t sleep. The air around him was filled by the sounds of a weak air conditioning and Sam’s quiet snores. He looked at his brother. He was curled up in a foetus position. He had always slept like this since he was a kid. It may have been down to Dean. When Sam was younger, Dean would share a bed with him, but only when John was away. Dean stopped when John had found them and called Dean a wimp who was afraid of being alone. John had been drunk at this point, he didn’t remember that he had said it, Dean never forgot it. But even after that Dean would wake up to find Sam curled up under his arm, and sometimes climb into Sam’s bed when he couldn’t sleep.

Sam had come back and gone almost straight to sleep. The hunt and life had worn him down. The werewolf they had been hunting for the past few days now had a silver bullet in its heart and wasn’t going to be doing any harm to anyone. Dean sat alone in the darkness, leaving Sam to sleep. He needed all the rest he could get. Dean watched his sleeping brother, he felt so helpless that he couldn’t protect Sam from the shit that life had dumped on them. His job was to protect Sam, if he couldn’t do that he might as well just stop everything. Sam rolled over in his sleep. Dean held his breathe for a moment. Sam was still deeply asleep.

He quietly stood up and made his way to the fridge. He grabbed another ice cold beer. Alcohol didn’t solve anything but it didn’t make anything worse. He sat back down on his bed. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

Sherlock sat in his chair. He kept running through the rooms in his mind palace. He searched for answers he did not yet possess. He had seen Moriarty in the fog. The fog was designed to stimulate fear. Sherlock thought he wasn’t afraid of Moriarty; his emotions were starting to affect him more than he could control. Henry Knight had been afraid of the hell hound, the one that had killed his father. Except it had been a demon and a hell hound. On the night of Henry’s father’s death, a hell hound had been in Dewers Hollow, but it was collecting a few deals that had been made in the town. The Father had been trying to save these people stupid enough to make deals. The hell hound had only come back years later to collect Dr Frankland. Henry didn’t know that his father had been a hunter. Much like John didn’t know he was a hunter.

 Movement outside his palace had ceased about an hour ago. John must have gone to bed. He slowly walked through the corridors in his head towards the exit. He blinked several times to take in his surroundings. Baker Street was the same as always, papers and experiments covered all surfaces. One lamp in the corner provided all the light for Sherlock.  He sat looking at the home around him. He sat alone for the night, until the first of the sun’s rays shone through the window into Baker Street.

* * *

 

The Doctor sat in the Tardis. He looked at the console. The rhythm of the engines was calming. The constant loom of an upcoming death was not. He knew that the song may end but the story goes on. He wanted to live in more than a story. He wanted to live.

He sat alone, thinking of how not too long ago, his family filled this Tardis. The family he had found on Earth. They had danced around the console and controlled it; creating the smoothest flight in years. They had laughed and cheered and hugged. A smile escaped his lips. He had known in that moment he was not alone. But as he dropped them off, one by one. He had felt more alone than ever. He had stolen the memories of Donna; he had left her without her knowing how special she was. He had watched Rose, his Rose, leave in a parallel universe with a human version of him. They could grow old together, have a family, and have the life the Doctor could only dream off. 

A few tears threatened to leak from his eyes. He knew his time was ending, but he wanted not to be alone. He had made a couple stops already. To say goodbyes to those he knew. Slowly working through a list of companions and friends who he would see one last time. He sat, his internal clock telling him he had been up for a couple days. He sat alone. It had been a long night.


	2. Coffee and Tea

_“I am a person who is unhappy with things as they stand. We cannot accept the world as it is. Each day we should wake up foaming at the mouth because of the injustice of things.” ― Hugo Claus_

Sam stirred awake. He sat up, his body sore from being thrown around by monsters. He could feel a bruise across his back from where he had hit. HIs eyes ached. Dean stood by the table, packing away guns and silver bullets. Dean turned to him.

“Rise and shine princess.” Dean smiled. Sam quietly groaned to acknowledge Dean. He stood up and  walked over to the bathroom, dragging his feet. The door shut and locked behind him.  Dean yawned. He needed caffeine. He finished packing up his stuff before leaving the motel room to grab some coffee from the place across the street.  The sky was covered in thin grey clouds. A cool breeze blew down the street. Dean strolled across the road, avoiding the traffic. The street was relatively quiet, with only a few people walking past. Dean eye’s caught a teenager who fitted the (now-dead) werewolf’s pray. He would be safer now, and not at risk of becoming werewolf chow. The thought was comforting. Dean walked into the coffee place and strolled right up to the counter. The girl at the counter smiled at him. He put on his charming smile.

“What can I do for you?” she said sweetly. She was a good distraction from the crappy world around him, and she was his type. Tall, pretty, up for a small fling by the looks she was giving him.

“Two black coffees.” Dean winked at her. She cocked her head at him. A few minutes later, Dean had two coffees with a number scribbled on one.  When he came back to the motel, Sam was sitting on his bed, changed, and the rest of their stuff had been packed up. Sam smiled at him.

“Hey.” Dean passed him a coffee and took a sip from the other. Sam took several gulps of the warm liquid. Dean noted the purple shadows under Sam’s eyes. Oh well, Sam could always get some more sleep on the road. Shall we set off?" Sam said as he stood up. Dean nodded quickly. Sam held his duffel bag in one hand and his coffee in the other as he strode out the door. Dean's eyes swept around the motel room one more time before leaving and closing the door behind him.

They sat in the impala, finishing the coffees. Sam saw the phone number scribbled on Dean's cup and raised an eyebrow.  Dean just smiled cockily. Trust Dean to be getting girls' numbers in the apocalypse. He started the engine. The sweet purr of the impala was music to his ears. They hit the road.

* * *

 

 

John stumbled into the kitchen. He swiftly turned on the kettle, and got out a cup, a tea bag and milk. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his mind craving the tea to wake itself up. John always started the day with a cuppa, and Sherlock watched him with unfocused eyes. John was a constant. He had a daily routine; his actions were engraved into Sherlock's mind. John was a centre point, an anchor in Sherlock's life. Sherlock didn't quite release how much he had wrapped his life around John. He ignored all emotions, but they had been harder to hide since meeting John. Sherlock dismissed it as a primal instinct to seek allies in others; it was simply for survival.

The kettle boiled. John started to drink his tea. He turned to look at Sherlock, who was obviously deep in thought (nothing new there). John recognised the blank look in his eyes; it only appeared when he was thinking hard. He noted that Sherlock was in the same clothes as yesterday. He hadn't slept. John sighed. Sherlock was going to run until he crashed.

"John?" Sherlock's voice interrupted the silence. The deep notes of his voice caught John's attention. Sherlock's eyes locked onto his.

"What were you thinking about?" John couldn't think of anything else to say. Sherlock tilted his head to the side then looked down at his feet. His dark curls flopped. John wanted to run his hands through his messy hair. Sherlock jumped to his feet, startling John. He strolled over to the window and looked out. The grey skies lazily littered rain on the ground. The cold concrete ground was damp and puddles were forming.

"Something's coming." Sherlock said, his voice eerily cold. John straightened up- old army reflexes.  Something about Sherlock's tone made John feel uneasy. Normally Sherlock would be screaming for a new case, today he just seemed... John didn't know how to describe it. He wanted to say Sherlock was waiting for something that excited him and made him scared. John had noticed a small change in Sherlock since Baskerville but he just dismissed it. Sherlock was probably just sensing some mass criminal action; he wouldn't stay up all night thinking if it wasn't for a case or something important.

 

But Sherlock could feel something in his gut. No signs of anything yet, but he had the same feeling as when he had hunted demons and played Moriarty’s game. Something was coming, and he didn’t know what.

* * *

 

The Doctor sat up. He kept trying to concentrate on his surroundings but focus kept slipping away from him. He rubbed the misty sleep from his eyes. His back ached and a small groan escaped his lips. His neck clicked and protested against his movements. He must have fallen asleep. He opened his mouth to call out to someone but stopped when he released there was no one to listen.  

He needed someone. He needed Rose. His Rose.

His Rose, another universe away, out of reach. The Tardis could make the trip, but not make it back. The universes could and would collapse some way or another. But who cared? He could be selfish. He had saved this universe so many times over; it owed him. And it wasn't certain that the universe would collapse. About 85%, but the Doctor was good at fighting figures and statistics. The emptiness inside of him called for Rose. It overpowered his logic.

He jumped up and ran around the console flipping switches and pulling levers. The Tardis' engines started. He was going to Rose. No one could stop him now; he'd gone too far past reason. A madman's plan had taken over his mind. Rose. Her name chanted through his head filling it like the time vortex. It was sounded like drums.

The engines complained and fought against him. The Tardis knew what he was trying to do and it was trying to stop him. He flew the Tardis through the vortex, charging for walls between the universes. He could smash through it. He fought the Tardis for control. He pushed against a lever, it protested against him. He kept pushing with all his might. The Tardis still fought back, shaking wildly. He was about to charge headfirst into the walls of the universe. He needed to get the lever to its highest setting for it to work. If it didn't reach he would have enough energy being fuelled from other parts of the Tardis to the engines to break through. He kept fighting. Timing was important and if he pushed now he could break through.

A second away from hitting the wall, he needed one last push to get the lever up. He closed his eyes ready for impact.   _Rose_ , his mind whispered. He let go of the lever just as he was about to hit the wall.


	3. Crash

_“It is always important to know when something has reached its end. Closing circles, shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn't matter what we call it; what matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.” ― Paulo Coelho_ , _The Zahir_

The Tardis hit the walls of the two universes. It had too little force to break through.  It tried to protect itself against the crushing pressure of the walls but the impact was severe. It rebounded and burst through another wall, one the Doctor didn't know was there. Universes do not lie next to each other in linear patterns, The Doctor knew that. The Tardis tore through the universe and the wall sealed itself behind him. It collapsed into a denser, unbreakable wall. The Doctor was flown across the Tardis as it spun out of control. It crashed into a building, taking down a few walls and wrecking the insides. The Doctor hit the console and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

John and Sherlock heard the explosion. They both jumped to their feet, John engaging his military stance whilst Sherlock ran to the window with impressive speed.  

"John." Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper. His face was blank with a confused daze in his eyes. John hurried over to Sherlock's side. He looked at what Sherlock was locked onto.

The apartments had been decimated, like a bulldozer had crashed through the front. Dust and rubble was scattered across the street. It looked similar to when Moriarty had planted a bomb there, except a bomb wouldn't create damage like that, John was certain.  John's eyes scanned the collapsed building front for something. He blinked when he spotted it but among the wreckage was a blue box.

 

* * *

 

"Dean." Castiel's sudden appearance startled him. He momentarily lost control of the Impala and the car swerved. The sudden movements jolted Sam awake. Seeing Castiel on the backseat of the Impala calmed his nerves slightly. Dean's surprised face mirrored Sam's.

"Cas?" Dean said.

"Something's wrong, Dean." Cas said seriously. He almost sounded worried, except Dean knew angels didn't have real emotions. He watched Cas in the rear mirror.

"Care to explain?" Dean asked. Getting information from him was like drawing blood from a stone.

"I don't know exactly. But something's started in London, something that isn't meant to be happening." Cas explained, poorly. Dean's annoyance grew. He opened his mouth to say something but Sam interrupted him.

"London? Like England?" Sam asked. His face was splattered with confusion, mixed with worry and exhaustion.  Dean mentally cursed Cas for waking his brother.

"Yes. We need to go and investigate." Without warning, Cas transported the car. A loud blaring horn startled Dean, as he swerved his precious Impala out of the oncoming vehicle's path. The van sped past, missing them by a couple of inches.

"What the hell Cas?" Dean shouted. He looked at Sam. Both brothers had a huge surge of adrenaline racing through their veins due to the near death experience.   The air had dropped in temperature. The sky was grey and bleak. More vehicles kept passing them on the other side of the road, the right. Dean kept driving on the left side. He was confused about his surroundings, until he remembered the stupid Brits drive on the wrong side of the road and the appalling weather meant they were no longer in America.

"Cas, you can't zap people across the world without warning!" Dean practically yelled. Cas' face dropped, Dean would have said he looked sad.

"Sorry, it shall not happen in the future." Cas said apologetically.

"It'd better not." Dean said loudly. He shook his head. Sam stared out the window, trying to get his bearings.

"Cas, where are we?"

"Ingatestone, 25 miles from London. This is the closest I could get us. London is temporarily sealed off by something." Cas explained minimally. He knew the older brother did not care for details of his angel powers.

"Ok. So I guess we're driving to London then." Dean sighed. The impala looked out of place as it raced down the winding roads towards London.  It roared through the English surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. This does have a story all mapped out, but I'm not sure how long it will be.   
> Also I'm really lazy, so just comment if you want more.


	4. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long. But enjoy!

“ _The search for a scapegoat is the easiest of all hunting expeditions.” ― Dwight D. Eisenhower_

Mycroft sat in his office. He held a cup of tea to his lips. The drink soothed his throat and settled in stomach, creating a warm feeling. There were no major crises that needed taking care of, currently. Mycroft felt almost relaxed.

The sounds of quick footsteps running down the hall interrupted the silence. Mycroft sighed; he liked quiet and peace, something he had figured out from a young age. Something that had been robbed from him for a few years by the birth of his baby brother, and in the years since by Sherlock's dangerous nature. The footsteps stopped outside the door. Mycroft could hear them shuffling outside.

"Come in." Mycroft ordered, before the person had even knocked. A young employee of his walked in, her dark curly hair pulled back behind her head. A crisp white shirt was contrasting to her dark skin.  Her name was Fiona; she'd worked here for just over a year. She was smart with knowledge past her years.  Mycroft deduced the latest things about her life.

"What is it, Fiona?" Mycroft asked. Fiona transferred her weight from one foot to the other.

"Sir, something has come up. It looks like there has been an attack on Baker Street." Memories flashed through Mycroft's mind. He stood up and picked up his umbrella, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over the wooden handle. He sighed and walked out of the office, closely followed by Fiona. His tea was left to go cold.

 

* * *

 

John was standing in the kitchen, calling the police in a useless attempt to try and help. Sherlock looked at the wreckage, with the growing crowd gathering in the street. Taking pictures, uploading them to a worldwide audience. This wasn't going to say secret for long- unless Mycroft intervened, Sherlock thought.

"Hi Lestrade, something's happened at Baker Street-" John's voice cut through the air.

"They won't be able to help." Sherlock said, as John gestured at him to be quiet. Sherlock sighed. He held his phone in his hand, staring hard enough to burn holes through it. He scrolled through his contacts and paused before dialling. He turned away from John to the window as the phone started to ring.

* * *

 

 Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket. Sam watched him as he checked the caller ID.

"Damn it," Dean muttered under his breath. He answered.

"Dean." The obnoxious, all-too-familiar British voice seeped through the speaker.

"Sherlock. What can I do for you?" Dean said, ignoring Sam's puzzles looks.

"I thought you were below." Sherlock sounded slightly puzzled. Dean wanted to rub the fact he knew things Sherlock didn't into his face.

"Yeah, well they can't keep me down. Now want do you want; you wouldn't bother calling just to see where I was." Dean could hear Sherlock sigh. God, dragging stuff out of him was almost as bad as getting stuff out of Cas. Almost.

"How quick can you get to London? I have something that has your name written all over it," Sherlock said. Dean smiled to himself.

"It's funny you ask that. 20 minutes, tops." There was pause at the other end.

"Alright. The address is 221b Baker Street. We need to solve this thing," Sherlock said as his eyes scanned for explosives and monsters.

"Ok, Baker Street got it. See you soon, Sherly." Dean said with a smirk. He hung up and put his phone on his lap. He could feel Sam's stare burning his face.

"Sherlock? Sherly?" Sam asked. Dean looked at him momentarily before focusing back on the road. He was still getting used to the whole driving on the wrong side thing.

"I met him back in the States. He was over there trying to catch some killer. It turned out to be a vamp. I helped him hunt it. And since then he's been hunting monsters in London, and I provide him with info on how to kill creatures and, one or two times, weapons." Dean explained. Sam leant further back into his chair and looked out the front windscreen.

"So this Sherlock is a hunter?" Cas asked. Dean looked at him in the rear view mirror.

"Yeah, he's also as annoying as hell," Dean muttered, remembering the few encounters he had had with the guy.

 

* * *

 

John, who had finished his phone call with Lestrade, watched as Sherlock hung up his phone. He thought for a moment, scanning his memories for a mention of Dean. He didn't have Sherlock's memory but was sure that Sherlock had never mentioned him before.

Sherlock could feel John's eyes on him. He sat down in his chair and avoided John's gaze.

John cleared his throat to try and get Sherlock's attention. Sherlock looked at him.

"Who was that?" John asked. Sherlock titled his head to the side, looking blank and confused.

"Dean?" John was having to spell it out for him, which meant Sherlock didn't want to share. The man was like a 5 year-old.

"He's no one important. Just some old friend who deals with this kind of thing" He gestured behind him to the street, "Well, I say friend."

"So he's a walking skull?" John said with smile.

"You could say that- he's a dead man walking." Sherlock said coldly. John's face dropped. The words felt like a double edged sword, like Sherlock was implying something John couldn't quite put his finger on.


	5. These Streets

_“And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.” ― Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing_

The impala drove down the A41.  _A41,_ Dean thought to himself, _what kind of people call a road A41?_   He turned the corner into Baker Street, where part of the road was being taped off. A building had had its front smashed in. Police and bomb experts walked along the site, and Dean slowed down to watch.

“Is that his place?” Sam asked, gesturing towards the destroyed building. Dean just pouted and shrugged his shoulders. There was no way through, he quickly did a U-turn.  He pulled into a side street and parked. Everyone climbed out, limbs slightly stiff from the long drive. Dean looked around for threats to his car; he didn’t want his baby damaged or stolen. Sam looked at his brother, noticing the worry.

“The car will be fine Dean. There are CCTV cameras everywhere,” Sam said in an attempt to calm Dean’s nerves. Dean muttered something under his breath. They started walking to Baker Street.

“So what’s this Sherlock’s address?” Sam asked.

“221b.” Dean said as he looked at his surroundings. Sam turned to at Cas. He was staring at the people walking by and the rows of tall buildings. Sam thought it might be Cas’ first visit London, in a while at least. As they walked towards Baker Street, Sam tried to hide that excitement that raced inside of him. He had always wanted to go to London when he was younger, and now he was here, childhood feelings were rising.

Dean gazed at the towering expanse of brick as they walked onto Baker Street. Dirty, white, stone buildings spanned the street.  The wreckage was still there. Dean looked closer at the large crowd of people setting up screens and tents to cover something.  He could have sworn he saw a flash of blue. They wandered along the street, looking at the house numbers.  They avoided walking through the crowds which had gathered at the police tape.

“There.” Sam pointed at a large black door with a golden knocker.  Golden letters nailed to the door stated, 221B.  It looked posh and pretentious; _Sherlock would definitely live here_ , Dean thought.  They climbed the steps to the door. Castiel’s eyes locked on the wreckage, spotting an unexplainable object among the rubble.  A blue box. It was nothing he had ever seen before and he could tell it was the reason of the unbalance in the universe. Energy was pulsing through the air, and he knew this simple box was the reason London was in lock down.

Dean reached the door. He rang the bell, after muttering a small curse under his breath.

 

* * *

 

The doorbell rang through the empty flat. Sherlock straightened up like a meerkat.

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock shouted, jumping up and running over to the window. John watched as Sherlock drew a deep breath; a result of whatever he was seeing. He turned to look at John. John could see a mental decision being made in his eyes.

Mrs Hudson was muttering to herself as she walked to the front door.  She pulled it open and saw the two tall men stood on the steps, with another smaller one in a trench coat standing behind them. He was focused on the wreckage opposite.

Dean was slightly taken back by the small old lady who opened the door, but he quickly got his bearings.

“Excuse me, is Sherlock here?” he asked. The old lady seemed as surprised as he was. She quickly smiled.

“Yes. He’s just upstairs, come in.” Ms. Hudson said, politely stepping aside. Sam and Dean glanced at each other before Dean stepped into the hallway. Sam looked back at Cas, before walking in after him. He smiled at the lady he presumed was the housekeeper.  Mrs Hudson watched the brothers as Castiel climbed the front steps.

“His door will probably be open. It’s on the first floor.” Dean shrugged at Sam, slightly confused. Sam nodded his head in the direction of upstairs. Dean turned and walked up the stairs, followed by the others. As Dean approached the open door the smell of chemicals, tobacco and tea drifted through the air.  He paused at the entrance, knocking it before taking a step into the apartment. 

Sherlock and John turned quickly to the door. A tall, fair haired man stood in the door frame, flanked by two other men. Sherlock straightened up as he saw them. John looked confused. Dean opened his mouth to say something.

“You’re here for a case.” Sherlock quickly interrupted Dean before he could say anything which could give something away. Dean frowned at Sherlock, who just glared at Dean.

“Yeah. Yes, my brother and I are here for a case,” Dean said, as smooth as worn sand paper. John nodded, taking in the guy’s American accent, and looked at Sherlock, expecting him to have made thousands of deductions.

“I’ll take it. Come in, you might as well take a seat.” Sherlock directed a hand to the sofa before adding, “And John will go and get some milk for a coffee.”

John glanced at Sherlock as Dean shuffled over to the sofa, Sam on his heels. Cas stood in the door way watching John and Sherlock.

“We have milk.” John stated bluntly.

“Not any more, I wanted a cup of tea and I did an experiment which used up the last pint.”  Sherlock said, smiling wryly whilst John resisted yelling at him in front of strangers. He knew that he was trying to get him out of the apartment.

“I’ll stay and help with the case.” John said slowly.

“John, this case looks promising, I doubt I will have solved it by the time you have milk and have come back,” Sherlock said, looking down at John.  John looked at Sherlock; he knew there was no point in arguing. He sighed.

“Okay, I’ll get the milk.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and walked out of the apartment, past the man in a trench coat. John could feel his eyes on him as he walked down the stairs.

Sherlock waited until John’s footsteps faded away. He focused his full attention on the brothers. He started his deductions on Dean.

Increased reliance on alcohol, dependant on brother, allergic to cats, depression, old injuries disappeared? New scars from within the last year, a burn or some scar on bicep, sad, skilled liar, low self-esteem, suffering stomach problems such as irregular bowel movement,  self- hating. Only a few things different from the last time he had seen him; he would have to investigate those further.

He turned his attention to Sam.

Recently over an addiction, carrying guilt, dependence on brother, looks up to him, hope, scars from hunting, intelligent, fighter, depressed, likes a healthy diet. It was nice to finally see the younger Winchester.

He turned look at the man by the door. He focused. Every deduction fell apart. The man was unreadable. All Sherlock could deduce is that he was something supernatural, and that he was powerful.

“That’s Castiel.” Dean said. He’d watched Sherlock try to do the weird reading thing he did on Cas, but he knew it would never work. Of course the guy was a genius but he wouldn’t be able to read Cas. Sherlock stared at Dean, demanding more information.

“He’s an angel.”

* * *

 

John muttered angrily to himself, Sherlock the full focus of his inner rant. He walked down the street, clutching the 4 freezing pints in his hands. He didn’t notice the black car that pulled up beside him until the chauffer climbed out.

“Dr. Watson. You are wanted by Mycroft Holmes.”

John stopped and turned to the man. He mentally cursed every God for having to deal with the Holmes brothers. The chauffer gave him a slightly sympathetic look.

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to demand that you come- under Mr Holmes’ orders.” The man said as he turned and opened the car door. John sighed. He climbed in, but not before muttering a little more profanity.

 John sat in silence for the whole car journey, clenching and relaxing his hand as the mental argument continued in his head.  John gazed at the building as they pulled up outside it. It was a large, Georgian building; dirty brick work with cream coloured stone lintels. A grand wooden door stood open into a white walled reception.  John climbed out as the car door was opened and glanced around his surroundings, trying to place himself. 

“Mr. Holmes is waiting for you inside.” The chauffer said, before climbing back into his vehicle. John sighed; he might as well get this over with. He walked into the reception. He saw the black desk straight away and wandered towards it. A young girl looked up at him with dark brown eyes; her face was framed by a dark green head-scarf that matched her blazer. John smiled at her.  He opened his mouth to speak.

“Third door on the right,” she said softly. He nodded and turned away. The sounds of his shoes echoed through the corridors.  He counted the oak doors as he passed them, stopping when he reached the third one. He raised his hand to knock the door.

“Come in, John.” Mycroft’s annoying voice seeped through from the other room. John opened the door and walked in. Mycroft sat in a leather armchair in front of an oak desk, wearing a colour coordinated pinstripe suit. The room was decorated with a several framed prints of Da Vinci’s sketches. Another arm chair stood opposite Mycroft’s. Behind the desk stood a dark skinned woman, but John didn’t recognize her. 

“Sit down, John.” Mycroft nodded to the chair. John sat down.

“I presume you have seen the damage outside 221b Baker Street.” Mycroft said.

“Well it’s kind of hard to miss. Rubble strewn all over the road. Loud explosions,” John replied with a forced smile. Mycroft smiled smugly.

“It was not caused by an explosion, John,” Mycroft said gently. John’s face was covered with confusion.  Mycroft’s smile grew.

“Among the wreckage we found a wooden blue box.”


	6. Tales of Monsters

_“What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.” ― Charles Baudelaire_

“Angels don’t exist.” Sherlock stated harshly. Dean smiled at the floor, before looking back at Sherlock.

“Castiel is an angel. He can prove it.” Dean said smugly. Sherlock looked from Dean to Castiel, then back again. He mind was racing through other possibilities. Angels didn’t exist.  That would mean there was an all-powerful God, and he couldn’t exist in a world so corrupted.

“Fine. Give me the evidence.” Sherlock turned and stared at Castiel, giving him his full attention. Castiel looked over at Dean, who smiled. Sherlock watched as Castiel’s eyes glowed blue and the shadows of large wings spread behind him. Lights were flickering.

“Alright. That seems sufficient evidence.” Sherlock said, annoyed. Immediately Castiel returned to his normal state.

“Anything else you want to know?” Dean asked. Sherlock turned to face him.

“How did you get out of hell?”

* * *

 

“A wooden box?” John asked, frowning. Mycroft nodded.

“Something wooden couldn’t do that much damage. A bomb could, but not a wooden box.” John stated. He’d seen damage on war stricken landscapes that had been created by weapons of man- not wooden boxes. The door opened behind John, and he turned to see Anthea walking in holding a file. She was just as pretty as the last time John had seen her.

“Ah, Anthea.” Mycroft said as she strolled across the room and handed Mycroft the file. She then took a place next to the woman John didn’t know. Mycroft opened it briefly, scanning its contents. He removed several pictures and handed them to John. The box was what John had seen earlier but dismissed. The pictures showed it clearly.                                                                                       

“On first appearance it looks as though it is an ordinary 1960’s Police Phone Box. It appeared to be wooden. But further tests suggest that it is anything but.”  Mycroft said as he closed the file. He seemed satisfied with its contents.

“I presume this shall be interesting enough for Sherlock. Make him take it.” Mycroft said coldly. Mycroft turned to look at Anthea and the other girl.

“This is Fiona. She shall take you back to Baker Street.” The woman, Fiona, walked forward and opened the door.

“I’m to take you back now Dr Watson.” She said softly. John quickly stood up and walked past her through the door. She followed him, her high heels clicking the same pace as John’s footsteps. She was beautiful, and she wasn’t buried in a Blackberry, which was a bonus.  They entered the reception and John stood awkwardly as she strode towards the desk. The receptionist smiled at her.

“Hello Fiona. Pleasure to see you here.” The receptionist said.

“Same for you, Shaimaa.” Fiona said sweetly. She leant on the desk. Shaimaa opened a filing cabinet. She pulled out a brown paper file and handed it to Fiona.

“It’s a shame we’re not working in same offices anymore.” Shaimaa said.

“We did have a laugh, but we both still work under the British government.” Fiona replied as she glanced through the file, “Anyway, we can catch up after work. Is the car here?”

“Yes, it’s just pulled up. I’ll see you at the usual place then.”

“Yeah, see you then.” Fiona said, smiling, as she turned and walked back over to John, holding the file.  She walked past him towards the exit. John didn’t move. She turned to look at him.

“Are you coming?” She asked. John quickly snapped back and followed her through the exit. He swore he heard the receptionist laughing. Fiona climbed into the car first, John following after. Once they started the journey to Baker Street, Fiona turned to look at him.

“This is the relevant data for the damage at Baker Street. “ She said as she passed John the file.

“Is this like the one Mycroft had? Got all the same information?” John asked briefly glancing through it.  He looked at her; she was giving him an  _are-you-stupid-or-something_ look.

“Of course Mycroft wouldn’t give me a file with all the data.” John muttered to himself. He looked through the file again, not taking anything in. “You said you worked under the British government. Is that what you call Mycroft?” John asked. Fiona smiled sweetly, her eyes unfocused.

“Yes, but I’m sure Mycroft doesn’t know.” She said quietly, smiling at her lap. John smiled; a small laugh escaped his lips.

“Sherlock calls him that,” he said.

“I know. That’s where I got it from,” she said. John frowned at her, trying not to let his confusion or surprise show.

“I spent such time for my degree at Bart’s. I helped him with a few experiments, and he repaid me with links to high places,” she said humbly. John smiled, having found someone else who had trained at Bart’s.

“What did you train in?” John asked.

“Psycholinguistics. Though it was only for enjoyment, I had a degree in psychology before.” John hummed, impressed. What was an intelligent person with a psycholinguistics degree working for Mycroft? he thought to himself.

“If you’re wondering why I’m working for Mycroft, the details of my job are confidential. “ She said, apparently reading his mind. But then, she had studied the human mind and behaviour; she could probably read John like a book.

The car suddenly came to a stop. John looked out the window at 221b. This was the first journey organised by Mycroft that John hadn’t found tedious or awkward. He was slightly sad it was over.

“Will I see you again?” John asked as he picked up the file off the car seat. Fiona smiled.

“Maybe,” she said. She reached down to next to her feet and pulled a milk cartoon on to her lap. She passed it to John. He muttered a thank you. 

He watched the car sink into the distance before he turned his attention back to 221b.

* * *

 

Sherlock watched Castiel closely. He may have provided evidence, but he was still sceptical. He listened to the story of Dean being raised from hell, and the events of the apocalypse that was unfolding. He noticed the raw, red emotions in Sam’s eyes, and the half-concealed sadness that surfaced on Dean’s face when he spoke of vessels and Michael and Lucifer and hell. 

It had been years since Sherlock had seen him face to face. The Winchester had changed greatly, but he still had the same tension in his shoulders, the same dimmed light in his eyes. His eyes looked centuries older than the rest of him.

“So, I think that’s everything. Is there anything else?” Sam asked politely. Dean could learn some manners from his younger sibling, Sherlock thought to himself.

“No, I think you’ve covered everything. Thank you Sam.” Sherlock said as he stood up and walked over to the window.

“I presume the thing outside is the reason you called us here.” Dean said bluntly. Sherlock turned to face him.

“Yes. I have direct access to all information gathered from the sight. This is more than just a simple demon- I think I need your help.”

“How will you get the information?” Sam asked, leaning forward.

“My brother.”

“You have a brother?” Dean spluttered. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Yes, an older and rather irritating one.” Sam laughed slightly. Dean glared at him. Sherlock heard the sounds of a car pulling up outside.

“That will be John with the information.” Sherlock muttered under his breath.

“John? That’s the guy you sent away earlier, isn’t it?” Sam asked. Sherlock looked from Sam to the floor, working through the plans in his mind.

“Yes. And to him you are here just on a case. He is not to know of the… supernatural,” Sherlock said, with a threat hidden in his words.

“He doesn’t know you’re a hunter, then.” Dean said with a smirk.

“No.” Sherlock replied coldly. He heard John unlock the front door.

* * *

 

Mycroft stood in the centre of the warehouse. From the outside, it looked like a simple shipping warehouse. Inside, corridors and cells stored secrets and people and objects that didn’t officially exist. He waited in the large room which was now being used as storage room for the mysterious blue box; the thing that was solely responsible for the destruction at Baker Street. It looked like a 1960’s police box, but the large surges of energy leaking from it suggested more than met the eye. It was locked by a simple Yale lock, although no key he could find fit and no lock picking device could open it.

Mycroft stood before it, reminded of childhood stories. Pandora’s Box.  When opened, it released all suffering into the world and had only been opened by to human curiosity. Though the story was one of his childhood favourites, it was purely fictional. Although this box before him stimulated great desire and curiosity, Mycroft would not let it affect him or his judgement.

Anthea stood beside him, constantly typing on her blackberry.

“What do you think of it?” Mycroft asked. It was always good to get another opinion. Anthea managed to spare it a glance.

“I think it will be interesting enough for Sherlock Holmes.” She stated bluntly. Mycroft smirked.

“I believe you may right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 51st Birthday to Doctor Who! :)


	7. Doctor's Appointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of long. So enjoy.

_“Each meeting occurs at the precise moment for which it was meant. Usually, when it will have the greatest impact on our lives.” ― Nadia Scrieva, Fathoms of Forgiveness_

The Doctor slowly stirred. A pounding in his head and black spots in his vision. His limbs were stiff and heavy. He took in his surroundings.

The Tardis. Good. Red glowing lights. Bad.

He rolled onto his knees and leant heavily against a pillar as he climbed to his feet. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head, then walked on weak legs over to the console. The screen was buzzing with information. The Doctor slowly made sense of the hectic feeds.

He was no longer in his own universe, apparently. He wasn't in Rose's either, but another. He had hit something on impact. The Tardis had been moved, but he was in London, England. He let out a breath of relief. He was safe. Lost, but in London. He knew the city as well as those back on Gallifrey. The universe had not been destroyed. The Doctor cursed himself for his spurt of madness and self-desire.  The Tardis needed time to repair, and the Doctor's desire to explore the new universe he had stumbled into was overwhelming. The pain in his skull was now a numb tapping rather than angry drumming. He took another deep breath, grabbing his coat, before walking out the door.

* * *

 

John walked into the flat. Sherlock was standing looking at him; their clients sitting on the sofa. Sherlock took in the file and milk John was holding.

"I presume you went to visit Mycroft." Sherlock stated.

"More like kidnapped by your brother." John replied handing Sherlock the file. He turned and went to put the milk in the fridge.

Sherlock quickly scanned through the file.  The old warehouse near the Chalk Farm Tube Station. Sherlock frowned at his brother's organisation. Mycroft loved to sweep things under the rug and hide them for his entertainment. He dumped the file on the desk, his eyes briefly making contact with Sam's.

"John, we need to go out," Sherlock said as John re-entered the room. John frowned and looked at the clients.

"Don't worry; they can let themselves out after we leave," Sherlock stated as he pulled on his coat and scarf. "Come on," he said as he walked out of the room. John nodded at the clients and then followed the detective.

Sam sat still until he heard the door open and close. He jumped to his feet, startling Dean, and walked over to the desk. He scooped up the file and started reading.

"What are you doing, Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam gave his brother a quick bitch face, before he continued to scan for what Sherlock had seen.

"We need to follow them." Sam turned and walked out the door. Dean looked at Castiel and shrugged. He quickly followed his brother.

He and Castiel caught up with Sam as he flagged a cab. It pulled up and Sam jumped in. He looked back to his brother standing on the curb. Dean jump-started as he got Sam's plan. He bounded into the cab, dragging Castiel with him.

"Where to?" The cabbie asked.

"Follow that cab straight ahead." The cabbie looked at the only other cab on the road.  He sighed to himself, but started after it without much hesitation.

Sam lost track of exactly how long they followed the cab. He was transfixed by the sites of London around him; it was so different to the American cities he had travelled through over the years. The older brick and stone buildings were a world away from the American sixties buildings he was familiar with. The taxi kept on the heel of Sherlock's as they drove through the city. Dean kept an eye on it. He didn't want to lose it.

"So where are we going?" Dean asked after a few minutes of silence.

"To the storage facility Sherlock's heading to," Sam replied simply. He turned to face his brother, whose face was blank. "They found something in the wreckage opposite. It was transported to this place."

"What did they find?"

"According to the file, something that doesn't make sense. A wooden blue box."

* * *

 

Sherlock watched the cab containing the Winchesters via glances through the rear view mirror. He wasn't certain Sam would understand. The younger Winchester was clearly too smart for his profession.

Sherlock recognised the corner as they turned it.

"Stop here," Sherlock said. The cabbie sent him a confused look, but followed the command. Sherlock threw the fare at him, before climbing out, John following him.

"Sherlock, what are we doing?" John asked.

"Well we can't exactly take a cab all the way to secret facility," Sherlock replied smugly. He turned and started walking. John smiled and fell into step beside Sherlock.

Sam spotted John and Sherlock climbing out of the cab. He called out to the driver to stop. He threw money at the guy and he jumped out as soon as the vehicle stopped. Dean pushed Castiel out.  They left the cabbie complaining about the American notes.

The Winchesters and Cas stuck to John's and Sherlock's heel for about 10 minutes before they lost them at a turning.

"How could we lose him?" Dean asked.

"I don't know." Sam mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair.

"What do we do now?" Dean asked looking at Sam. Sam shrugged. Castiel put two fingers to their foreheads.  The sensation of being in a wind tunnel whilst the floor was yanked from under you would be a tamed, but valid description for angel transport. Dean and Sam opened their eyes in a strange room. It was some entrance hall of building.

"Where are we, Cas?" Dean demanded.

"The same building as Sherlock," Castiel replied simply. Sam nodded gently.

"Okay. Let's get this hunt under way."

* * *

 

Anthea had been waiting for them in reception. She had led them down a network of corridors until they arrived at a white-painted metal door. She opened the door to let them through.

Mycroft stood leaning against his umbrella, a smug smile on his lips. Sherlock briefly looked at him before turning his attention to the box behind him.

A 1960's police box stood proudly; its blue painted exterior warn, red lights faintly seeping through the misty window panes. It stirred something in Sherlock's gut. It increased his curiosity.  The facts he'd read briefly in the file didn’t give the box a fair judgement. Sherlock walked up to the door. He wrapped his hand around the handle and gave it a slight pull. It didn't move. Sherlock hadn't expected it to open, just hoped. He looked at the lock; it was simple enough.

"Nothing can get in," Sherlock said, his voice echoing.

"No key fits. No device can open it. It is sealed," Mycroft replied, despite Sherlock not asking a question.

"If you could open it, would you?" Sherlock asked as he turned to look at his brother.

"This is not fairy tale, Sherlock. It's not Pandora's box," Mycroft stated.

"It doesn't mean that if you open it, nothing bad will come out," Sherlock said coldly. He turned away from his brother and looked at the door.

"With the amount of energy seeping from it, I think it would be something powerful. Whether it is good or bad depends on who is using it," Mycroft started. He loved to start debates with Sherlock. His brother didn't look at him or dignify him with a response. His full attention was on the door. He noticed a faint brown mark, head height, on the side of the room.  It looked like fresh blood. He looked down. How could he have been so blind?

"Something's already come out."

Mycroft straightened up sharply. Concern broke through his mask for a moment, before he regained control. He walked to Sherlock's side, and then noticed the blood. He turned and began to walk towards the door. Sherlock followed a moment after, with John close behind him.

"We have matters to discuss, Sherlock," Mycroft said as he led them into a small office-like room. Sherlock and John scanned the room, Sherlock learning much more than John.

Mycroft looked at John blankly. John looked from Mycroft to Sherlock.

"Fine, I'll leave." He sighed and strode out of the room. The corridor was empty.

For a while he just waited outside the room, but he grew bored. He started walking down the corridor. He stopped at a door, opening it out of curiosity. It was just an empty medical room. Nothing interesting. He closed the door, and continued his musing. He stopped at another door. He opened slightly. The eyes of two people dressed in lab coats locked onto him. He smiled awkwardly, before quickly closing it. He carried on exploring, keeping his head down.

Someone knocked into his shoulder. He turned to see a guy, around 6ft with brown hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a brown suit, full length coat and trainers. He looked slightly pale.

"I'm sorry," The guy apologised.

"No, it's okay," John said. His eyes flickered to the dry blood on the guy's neck and in his hair.

"Are you okay?" John moved to try to see the injury clearer. The guy put a hand to where John was staring.  He flinched. His hand came back with dry flakes of blood. "There's got to be somewhere round here where I can check your head for you." John said. He grabbed the guy's arm gently, scared that the injury could cause him to collapse.

"No. I'm fine; you don't have to do anything for me," he replied. John remembered the empty room he had walked into was just around the corner.

"There's a room round the corridor where I can check this."  John gestured to the blood on the guy's head. He nodded and followed John as he was gently pulled down the corridor.  John checked the room was still empty before he pulled the guy in and sat him down in one of the chairs.

* * *

 

The Doctor sat down in the chair. The shorter man was kind, probably trained in medicine by the way he acted. The room looked like some medical examination room.  There were two chairs. A desk with a computer stood against the wall. An examiner's table stood opposite. There were no windows. The Doctor frowned at that. He noticed the door without a handle on the other side of the room.

John muttered under his breath as he searched for a medical kit. This was an examiner's room; there was going to be something here. He opened another desk draw.

"Bingo." John said out loud. He pulled out the small medical kit. "I'm John, by the way. Doctor John Watson." The Doctor froze at the words.  _John_   _Watson_? Questions hung on his tongue. He carefully chose his words.

"You're friends with Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?" he asked. John smirked.

"Yeah. That's right. The great and arrogant Sherlock Holmes." John said with a smile. The Doctor nodded slowly as he processed information. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, both were fitting the descriptions of Conan Doyle's. Out of any universe, he got one with fictional characters. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Things could have been a lot worse.

"Do you mind?" John gestured to the guy's head.

"No. I'm the Doctor. By the way." John paused to look at him.

"I'm guessing that's not your real name. Did you choose it, or did someone choose it for you?" John asked, thinking of Anthea.  The Doctor went silent. John continued to look carefully through the dry blood, trying to find the wound. He found a cut on the side of the head. Heavy bruising was causing slight swelling. The Doctor had to have been in something serious to be injured like this. It looked like he had been hit over the head by some sort of blunt object, but the injury looked older than should have. The way the dried blood contrasted with the fading swelling was confusing.

"When did this happen?" John asked.

"A few minutes I think, though it's more likely to be a couple of hours ago." The Doctor answered.

John paused for a moment, trying to process the facts.

"I don't think you'd believe me if I explained it to you." The Doctor said calmly.

* * *

 

The Winchesters walked down a long corridor. Sam's eyes were darting around. Dean watched his brother search for something.

"This way," Sam said after looking at the number on the door. They wandered down another corridor.  This place was a maze of corridors. Luckily they didn't run into anyone- their usual FBI covers wouldn't work well in British government storage facility.

Sam read the number on the white-painted, metal door. It matched the one in the file.  He studied at the lock. It was electronic. He looked at Dean who shrugged and turned to Castiel. Castiel walked over to the door and pulled on the handle. The sounds of straining metal filled the air as the door was pulled open.

Dean and Sam looked around awkwardly, trying to see if they were gaining attention. The corridors remained empty. Castiel stepped back to let the Winchesters through. Sam stepped through first, followed by Dean. Their eyes both locked onto the Blue box that stood alone in the room. Dean hung back, as Sam walked straight up to it. He ran a hand over the painted surface. Wooden, just as the file had said.

Castiel stood silently next to Dean. Dean tore his focus off the box to Castiel.

"I thought you said your angel powers didn't work in London. How did you zap us back there?" Dean asked. Castiel's eyes never left the police box. He could feel the power seeping from it. It carried itself like it shouldn't be there.

"A field is surrounding London. Its properties are similar to an electro-magnetic field. It's repulses incoming objects, but once inside the field travel is possible but limited," Castiel said coldly; he disliked being weaker than his normal self, although you could not see it from the outside of his vessel.

Dean just nodded.  He watched Sam finish his evaluation and return to them.

"Got anything Sammy?" he said.

"Nothing useful. It looks wooden but if that was true it couldn't do that much damage or produce that much energy."

"Then I say we scope this place out and see if we can find anything else."

* * *

 

"You should stop, brother dear," Mycroft said.

"You can't stop me," Sherlock spat.

"I have all the power to stop you, _brother_ ," The words rolled smugly off Mycroft's tongue. Sherlock glared at his brother, channelling pure rage in his gaze.

"Sherlock, we both know this is a wrong path. I thought you were slowly stopping the hunting. The running around after monsters, the stupid games. The thrill seeking," Sherlock clenched his fists.

"I'm helping people. You just bury everything, human and supernatural. You just bury the coffins; you don't care about people out there," Sherlock spat.

"Sherlock, why do you think I'm here talking to you? Would I be here if I didn't care?" The words rolled off Mycroft's tongue. They made Sherlock's skin itch.

"I will solve this case, just like I do with all the ones you dangle in front of me. All the ones with people, not monsters. I'm doing this and you won't stop me!" Sherlock's voice rose as his anger boiled. Mycroft just stared blankly at him. He nodded to himself, thinking over his words. Sherlock turned away before he could speak.

"Just give me what I need, and then you can be helping me at least." Sherlock reached out to grab the door handle.

"William, you know this is dangerous."

Sherlock squeezed the handle in a vain attempt at burying his rage. He took a breath. He slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

 

"So the Tardis is yours?" John asked gently. He had pulled up a chair opposite the Doctor's. He was finding the Doctor very interesting.

"Yes. It stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space," The Doctor said with a smile. He was holding a cool pack against his head that John had given him.

"The damage you caused is quite impressive," John teased. The Doctor laughed.

"Yeah, sorry about that," The Doctor replied humbly. John laughed gently.

"No one was hurt, other than you. As far as I know, anyway," John stated. The Doctor nodded, thinking to himself.

"So what does the Tardis do?" John asked.

"Well, it travels in time and space. Alien technology. But it can do a lot of things."

"And it's from Galli ...fries?" John asked.

"Gallifrey, but yes. It's from my home planet." The Doctor looked at John. "You don't seem fazed by the whole alien thing," he stated.

"Well... as a kid I always believed in aliens." John ran a hand through his hair, "Something bigger out there. I suppose it nice to know the universe has more to it than just murderers, criminals, war; to know that there are parallel universes and aliens, entire worlds and galaxies out there."

The Doctor smiled. He really liked John.

"If you want, at some point I can show a planet or two. If you'd want to."

"Oh god yes!"

At that moment the door opened. In the frame stood one of the clients- the tallest one. He paused on seeing people in the room, and slowly started to back out. John jumped to his feet and walked to the door.

"You're following us," John said accusingly. The guy opened his mouth to say something.

"You don't work for Mycroft, what are you doing here?" John took a step closer.

"Hey," The shorter client, who was still a head above John, stepped through the door frame, between John and the taller one. John locked eyes with the shorter one. He glared at them, threats shooting through his gaze.

"John?" The Doctor's voice came from behind. John turned to look at the Doctor. The clients transferred their gaze to the Doctor, taking him in, and his head injury. The taller one seemed to realise something.

"You've been into the box." He pushed past John, his hand reflexively reaching for gun.

"Okay, I can explain whatever you need to know. In return for some information from you," The Doctor said calmly. The client paused.

"Good, first names. I'm the Doctor." The shorter one scoffed.

"Sam." The taller one answered.

"Nice to meet you, Sam."  The Doctor turned to look at the shorter one. He didn't respond.

"This is my brother, Dean," Sam replied for him. The Doctor smiled.

"Sam, Dean. Why don't you start with the questions?" The Doctor said. The brothers looked at each other. John sat back down in the chair next to the Doctor.

"Is the box yours?" Sam asked.

"Yes. It's mine. Who's your friend, who is standing outside?" The Doctor returned. Dean looked out into the corridor. Castiel was standing there looking at him.

"You might as well all come in. Since I think only John is actually meant to be here, standing in the corridor will only draw attention to us." The Doctor lowered his ice pack. Sam went and sat on the desk and Dean stood next to him. A man in a trench coat stepped in. He had dark hair and bright blue eyes, which locked onto the Doctor. Shock and confusion coated his face.

"You're not possible." A deep voice came out of the man. The Doctor looked at him. He wasn't the only thing not human in the room.

"Oh, I'm very possible," The Doctor said smiling.

"What are you?" Dean asked quickly.

"Timelord," The Doctor said briefly, "What are you?" he said with his eyes locked onto the non-human. Sam and Dean shared a confused glance.

"I'm an angel of the lord," the angel said coldly. The Timelord and the angel spent another second studying each other.

"Well, I'm the Doctor. If you didn't hear that. I presume you have a name," The Doctor said, smiling.

"Castiel," he replied slowly. The Doctor nodded.

"The angel of Thursday. What day is it John?" The Doctor asked with a smile. John thought a moment before replying.

"It's Thursday," John said slowly. The Doctor's grin grew.

"Now that's got to be a good sign," he said.

"But he said he's an angel. They don't exist," John said, confused. Sam and Dean gave him a quick look, which looked slightly like pity.

"John. I just told you that I'm an alien and you barely blinked. An angel is possible," the Doctor said.

"You're not alien. Aliens don't exist," Dean interjected.

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by the short blast of a siren, followed by a muffled announcement that filled the air. Nervous glances were exchanged.

"Head to Baker Street, all of you. We can finish this later." John ordered. Castiel nodded. He quickly stepped forward with arms raised. The Winchesters and Castiel disappeared within the blink of an eye.

"Well I guess that's three out." John said to the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta. You're amazing!


	8. Formation of the Pieces

_You not only are hunted by others, you unknowingly hunt yourself."  ― Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun_

Sherlock stormed down the corridor, his mind scattered by rage. He would not be treated by child. He walked heading towards the entrance, determined to get back to Baker Street.

An alarm went off. Sherlock listened to the announcement as he walked. He stopped dead in his tracks.

The storage for the police box had been breached.

Sherlock smiled. Sam was smart enough to follow him and get into the facility; the younger Winchester had a lot going for him. Sherlock turned on his heel and began to walk back deeper into the facility. The sirens ceased after a few more moments.

* * *

 

"Will you be okay?" John said pointing at the Doctor's head. The Doctor smiled.

"I was almost fine when you found me. One ice pack later, I'm completely fine." The Doctor answered.  John nodded.

"I don't know how to get you out, I'm afraid. This is my first time here," John said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, the Tardis is a no go at the moment, so out the front door," The Doctor joked. John laughed, before pausing,  _could they actually do that_?

"That might not be a bad idea after all."

* * *

 

The door stood wide open in front of Sherlock. It had to have taken a massive force to get it open. Security officials stood by the door, and Sherlock knew he could walk right past them with his level of clearance. He just stood there watching a flow of people enter and exit the storage room.

"It was opened from the outside. Anyone should be able to see that," Sherlock said as his brother came into the corner of his eye.

"They have been told that something has come out of the box. And remember, they do not have the power of deduction which you and I possess," Mycroft said to his younger brother as he stood next to him.

"They should still be able to see it," Sherlock spat.

"They are scientists, not detectives. They have probably noticed it, they are just going on the information they have. If someone doesn't say something, how do you know whether they know it or not?" Mycroft said simply. 

The brothers stood watching the people who seemed oblivious to their presence- either that or they were deliberately ignoring them.

"Where's John?" Mycroft asked, trying to make small talk. Sherlock scanned the corridor. John wasn't there. He had presumed John was following him.

"Go and find your pet, brother dear," Mycroft said smugly. Sherlock sighed and started walking. He paused and turned back to Mycroft.

"John is not my _pet_ ," he said sharply before turning away.

"Then what is he to you?" Mycroft said, completely self-satisfied. Sherlock silently fumed as he walked away.

* * *

 

John slowly opened the door. No one was in sight. No sound of footsteps rang through the air as they had just moments before.  They had heard the large number of people streaming through the corridors outside but they'd stayed hidden until the sound had died.

"Okay- it's clear," John said as he stepped out into the corridor.

"I say we just keep heading forward, since behind is the way we came from the Tardis, which I think is in the dead centre," John stated, looking down the corridor which he hoped would lead to the exit.

"Well, you're the only one who has used the front door to get in here," The Doctor joked before taking a few steps in the direction of (what they could only hope was) the exit. John walked next to the Doctor down the empty corridor. He was trying to remember the way out of this place, with little result. They aimlessly wandered for a few minutes.

"Okay- we're lost," John said when they reached a dead end. This place was like a rabbit's burrow.

Suddenly someone stepped out of a room and started walking towards them.  John froze slightly.

"What's the name of the main road you arrived on?" The Doctor whispered.

"Chalk Farm Road. Why?" John whispered.

"Excuse me, I've been asked to assort Doctor Watson to Chalk Farm road. Where is the nearest exit leading out there? I'm terrible with road names," The Doctor said calmly. The guy gave the Doctor a strange look.

"Take the north exit. It's the corridor on the right back there and then the third left," they answered politely. The Doctor nodded.

"Thank you," he said before turning the direction the guy had advised. "This way Doctor Watson."

John turned and followed him, a grin pulling on his lips. Once they were out of earshot, John looked at the Doctor.

"Did you know that would work?" John asked.

"British are too polite not to help with directions when someone's asks nicely. Some say it's genetic," The Doctor replied.

"What do you think?" John enquired.

"I think that he was suspicious until he saw you. He was only doing it to help you, because I think that you're very important; especially here," The Doctor said with a smile. John's stomach fluttered with the praise. They continued the way the guy had said. When they reached the entrance, John was certain this was the way he and Sherlock had come through.

Once they reached outside and were greeted by fresh air, they let go of the nerves they had.

"I can't believe we just walked out of a government base," John said before descending into laughter. The Doctor smiled.

"Shall we get away from here?" The Doctor asked. John nodded and started walking closer to the main road. When he reached the kerb, John signalled a taxi which pulled up straight away, to John's surprise. Usually they would drive past him; he'd have to signal about 6.

"Get to Baker Street." John reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed the Doctor a few notes.

"You're not coming?" The Doctor asked confused.

"No, I'll wait for Sherlock," John replied.

"I can't take this," The Doctor said to the money John held in his extended arm.

"You're an alien without money, take it. Get to Baker Street and check if Sam, Dean and Castiel are there." The Doctor reluctantly took the money from John and climbed into the taxi. John shut the door behind him.  He watched the taxi drive off before turning around and starting the short walk back to the facility.

Just as John reached the front door, Sherlock strolled out.

"There you are John. I presume you're ready to go," Sherlock continued walking past John in the direction of the main road. John sighed out of habit and followed Sherlock. He caught up with him just as Sherlock called a cab, which pulled up straight away as usual.

"Baker Street," Sherlock said as he climbed in. John clambered in after him. John waited until the taxi started its journey to Baker Street before speaking.

"I presume you wanted the clients to follow us there. Even _I_ could pick up on all the hints you dropped," John stated. Sherlock tensed slightly next to him. "Sam and Dean are human, I'm going with. But I doubt Castiel's an angel," John continued. Sherlock looked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, before John cut him off.

"I'm not as dumb as you think I am. I'm not the great Sherlock Holmes, but I still find out a lot without powers of deduction," John said, with tones of annoyance in his voice. Sherlock wanted to say something, but he had nothing to say. Silence filled the cab. John just stared out the window.

After a few minutes, John saw familiar buildings and knew they were a few minutes away from Baker Street. He looked at Sherlock who was deep in thought.

"I've solved the case." John stated. Sherlock jumped, pulling out of his mind palace at John's words.  Sherlock gave John a look: _What_?

"It will take a lot of explaining. But I've got a... client, no friend, who can help explain it," John said briefly.  The cabbie pulled up outside Baker Street before Sherlock could ask any questions.  John jumped out straight away. Sherlock threw the money at the cabbie before climbing out after John.

John looked up and down the street. He saw the Doctor walking towards him. Baker Street's front door opened. Dean stood in the door frame.

"Your landlady's out. And Sam wants more information which I presume you have," he said. Sherlock walked up the front steps. Dean stepped aside to let him through and turned his attention to John.

"Where's Doc?" Dean asked.

"Right here," The Doctor said as he reached 221b. Dean straightened up.

"Where were we? Aliens, that's right," The Doctor said as he followed Dean into Baker Street.  John heard a debate taking place inside. He looked down the street as he climbed the front steps. In the corner of his eye, he saw a cloud of black smoke.


	9. Demons

_"Men who fear demons see demons everywhere."  ― Brom, The Child Thief_

Sherlock entered the flat. Sam was sitting on the couch reading the file Mycroft had sent him, while Castiel stood in the corner.

"I see you managed to get in the facility," Sherlock said. He removed his scarf.

"It's easy to get in when you have an angel," Sam said, not looking up. Sherlock glanced at Castiel as he pulled off his coat.  He heard Dean talking as he climbed the stairs, but the one that replied was one he did not recognise. It must be John's  _friend_.

"So you're telling me you're from Gallifrey, but you can't show me a lick of evidence," Dean said as he reached the last flight of stairs.

"Oh yes, because the Tardis isn't evidence. I guess I'll just have to show you my two hearts," the Doctor replied. Dean paused and turned to look at him.

"Dude, there's no way you have two hearts," Dean stated.

"I'm an alien, and last time I checked I definitely had two," The Doctor said plainly. Dean studied the doctor for a while, brows furrowed. His head was swimming with the weirdness, and his life was freak show of weirdness.

"I need a beer," Dean announced before continuing up the stairs into Sherlock's flat. The Doctor followed for a while but stopped just outside, unsure of whether to enter or not. His eyes locked onto a tall, pale man with a wild mop of dark curls and piercing blue eyes. That must be this universe's Sherlock Holmes.

"Who are you? Are you John's  _friend_?" the man said in a strong British accent, seeping arrogance. Yes, that was Sherlock Holmes, the Doctor thought to himself.

"Yes, I'm John's friend. I 'm here because he invited me," The Doctor said as he stepped into the apartment.

Ms Hudson climbed the steps as quickly as her hip would allow. She'd heard the voices upstairs as soon as she entered the building, more than John and Sherlock's. It must be a difficult case, she thought; the clients must still be upstairs.  She'd left her shopping bags next to her door, there was nothing that couldn't survive the time it would take to offer drinks to the guests.

She reached the flat and walked through the open door. The clients from earlier were in the flat, as well as a tall gentleman in a suit that she didn't recognise.  He smiled at her warmly, and she dismissed him as a threat.

"Sherlock, I was wondering if you would like a cup of tea," Ms Hudson said to Sherlock, pulling his attention away from the Doctor.

"Yes, Ms Hudson," Sherlock said sharply.

"Do any of you want a drink? I have tea, coffee, water; anything you like," Ms Hudson asked looking at the clients.

"I'd love a cup of tea, Ms?" The Doctor said.

"Ms Hudson. Anything for you two?" she said looking at Sam and Dean.

"Two black coffees, please," Sam said. Ms Hudson nodded, adding to her mental list.

"Of course, I'll get right onto it. Sherlock, will you send John down in a minute to help bring this up?" Sherlock hummed in response.

"I'm sure Cas could help you," Dean said, turning to Castiel. "Go on, be an angel." He grinned, laughing inwardly at his joke. Castiel frowned, plainly confused.

"Oh dear, that would be a marvellous. Just this way," Ms Hudson said, turning to start the journey downstairs. Castiel followed her as she ushered him into her kitchen. She was rambling about Sherlock and her times in America, since she recognised the clients' accents.

"You don't miss your husband?" Castiel asked. This shocked Ms Hudson; she was used to being ignored.

"I miss who he used to be, before he got caught up in that awful business," Ms Hudson said sadly. She missed the man she fell in love with when they were young and wild.

* * *

 

Sherlock tried reading the Doctor, without much success. He could deduce basics but nothing that provided a clear image.

"I suppose you want to know the solution to the case," The Doctor said.

"And I suppose you are to do with the crash outside," Sherlock said coldly.

"Yes. I crashed into it. With my space ship," The Doctor said, grinning. Sherlock's face went blank. He frowned at the man. Dean couldn't help smiling at Sherlock's bewilderment, even if he wasn't feeling much better himself.

"And I suppose you're an alien then," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"Yes I am," The Doctor said, still looking smug.

"I presume John believes that," Sherlock muttered.

Right on cue, John opened the door. Sherlock shot him a quick look but continued to talk to the Doctor, ignoring John. John slowly wandered into the kitchen. He opened a few draws and closed them, glancing at Sherlock. He opened a cupboard and took out a plate.

"Does anyone want any biscuits to go with the tea?" John asked. A response was spat from Sherlock, a request was sent politely from Doctor, and the Winchesters turned down the offer. John opened the biscuit tin. There were no body parts or experiments in it- thank god. John pulled out a few custard creams and chocolate digestives. He picked up the plate in his right hand. Cold metal pressed against his wrist inside his jacket, hidden from the outside. John turned, carrying the plate of biscuits. When he re-entered the kitchen, he found the Doctor had planted himself in John's chair.

"Aliens are not possible. Nothing you have said has any logical basis. It has to be impossible," Sherlock spat. 

"You're just narrow minded," The Doctor said calmly.

"I know the basic theories of aliens, and all of them are false. You are not real. You're lying," Sherlock said.

"You're just as ignorant as Arthur Conon Doyle said," The Doctor muttered under his breath. John came in with a plate and offered the biscuits to the Doctor.

"Thank you," The Doctor said, smiling at John and grabbing two of the custard creams.

John just nodded before walking back over to Sherlock. Sherlock sat at the desk.  He had given up on fighting with the Doctor; he could prove him wrong some way, he knew, but now was not the time. John passed Sherlock the plate. He took it reluctantly, muttering a thank you under his breath.  John's arms dropped to his side and Sam noticed as John's hands messed with his sleeve. He saw the light reflect off something metal, and his reflexes kicked into action. He was at John's side in two strides and wrenched his wrist back.

 A large cooking knife dropped to the floor with a thump. A wave of silence washed over the room only to be replaced with another of commotion. John pulled against Sam's grip, with more strength than a man should possess. Sam's grip didn't falter. His fist hit John across the cheek. John grunted and threw Sam back. Holy water hit John's back. It burned and steamed. John grunted and turned to see Dean holding a flask of holy water. More of the liquid hit him and burnt.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," Sam started.  John grunted.  Sherlock stood frozen by the desk, staring with wide eyes. The Doctor was on his feet and ready to act, despite having no idea what was happening. Sam continued the exorcism and Dean threw more holy water at John for good measure. John fell to his knees as black smoke poured from his lips, arching towards the ceiling before disappearing.

John curled over on himself, hugging his legs, taking deep breathes, trying to clear away the dizziness. He had tried to kill Sherlock. He had felt a rage inside of him, one stronger than anything he'd ever experienced. He hadn't been in control. He'd seen everything. He'd done everything.

"John," Sherlock said gently as he knelt down next to him. John uncurled himself to look at him.

"What was that?" he asked weakly. Sherlock paused, unsure of what to say.

"It was a demon," Sam answered for him. Sherlock nodded gently to thank him. John sat up. The world was no longer spinning.

"I suppose I have to believe Castiel about being an angel now," John said, his chuckle coming out a little hysterical. Sam smiled slightly. John climbed to his feet.

"It was a demon. What are they?" The Doctor asked.

"Well, they're pretty much the stereotypical demon. Black eyed, evil created from years of torture in hell," Dean explained. The Doctor nodded slowly, taking the information in.

"I think I prefer aliens," The Doctor muttered under his breath.  Castiel reappeared in the door frame.  He was holding a tray of drinks. He stiffened, sensing the danger in the room.

"What happened?" Castiel asked Dean.

"Just a demon," Castiel looked at Dean, waiting for him to elaborate. Dean just turned and walked over to the plate of biscuits and grabbed a couple.

"I don't understand- how could it be a demon?" John asked looking at Dean.

"Well you know the whole X-files speech; 'the truth is out there' shit?" Dean asked, John nodded slowly. "Well, it's out there; monsters, ghosts, vampires, the things under the bed, all of it."

"How do you know about them?" John asked. Dean shot a look at Sherlock.

"We hunt them. That's why we came here. The crash looked like something done by a powerhouse demon or angel," Dean said.

"Why here though? You're clearly from America, why come so far for a case- surely there're cases in America."  Dean tried to come up with an answer, but this had never been his forte. He looked to Sherlock for help, hoping that John won't catch it, but the man noticed and his eyes shot to Sherlock.

"You called them. But you never ask for help," John said, frowning.

There was a pause. "I hunt them too," Sherlock said, staring at the ground.

"What?" John exclaimed.

"I hunt them. But they have never attacked the flat directly," Sherlock said, his eyes unfocused and glassy. John stared at him.

"How come you've never told me this before?" John asked, anger highlighted by the tension in his shoulders and his jaw. Sherlock blinked, his eyes on him. He tried to read him before choosing his words. Sherlock remained silent. John turned away. Sherlock's grabbed onto his arm.

"Listen to me, John," he said desperately. John looked at him with fury written on his face. "You didn't need to know. I thought about telling you when we played the game with Moriarty-"

"Moriarty's a demon?" John spluttered.

"It wasn't necessary for you know," Sherlock explained.

"Necessary? Was it necessary for you to lie to me?" John questioned. Sherlock froze. The words he was going to say evaporated into thin air. John eye's scanned Sherlock's face looking for an answer. Seeing nothing, his eyes dropped to the floor. John's mind raced through every case, trying to see monsters in the shadows. He tried to sort the lies from the truth, but they blurred.

"John, look at me," Sherlock said as his grip tightened on John's arm. John still stared at the ground. "John, look at me, please," Sherlock begged.

John dragged his eyes up. The unfamiliar coldness in his features made Sherlock feel like he was looking at stranger. The eyes that looked at Sherlock with such icy confusion, replaced those that held a friendly light in them. Sherlock felt guilt stir in his gut. The words that fell on John's ears had made him look at Sherlock in a new light. Sherlock wasn't who he thought he was. He was stranger.

"Was it all a lie?" John asked, his voice a quiet whisper in the silence. Sherlock blinked. "Was it all just lies?" John repeated bitterly.

"No. Not all of it."

"How can I believe anything you say?" John pulled his arm out of Sherlock grip. He walked away, up the stairs to his room. Sherlock stood still, unsure of what to do next.

"Give him a minute, then go and apologise," The Doctor said.

"A demon shouldn't have been able to get in here. Not if you'd done everything I said to," Dean told Sherlock. Sherlock glared at him.

"He must have broken the devil trap by the front door," Sherlock muttered.

"Is this the first time there's been an attack on this place?" Dean asked. Sherlock's silence said yes.

"John could have been seriously hurt- so could you. Me and Cas are going to set up some defences for this place against everything we know," Dean said as he turned.

"Cas and I," Sherlock said coldly. Dean glared at Sherlock before walking out, Castiel on his heel.

"How long should I leave John for?" Sherlock asked the room.

"I think he's had time to stir in his own juices for now. So go and explain," The Doctor replied. Sherlock straightened up and walked to the staircase. He paused, his foot hovering above the step, his mind racing. Sherlock could deduce someone's entire life in one look, he was good at that, but he didn't know how to say sorry. He took a deep breath and gently placed his foot on the step. Movements came easy after that. He gently knocked on the door.

"Go away," John said through the door.

"I want to tell the truth," Sherlock said, grateful that the door blocked John's looks.

"You've never done it before, why would you now?" John said bitterly.

"Just listen. Please." The last word came out barely a whisper. Silence from the other side of door beckoned Sherlock to talk.

"John, I never directly lied. I _am_ a consulting detective. I take cases from your website. I never told you about the supernatural side of my job. Every child is told fairy tales and most of them are realer than you'd believe. I didn't start taking hunters' cases professionally until I met Dean. I thought I was looking at a psychopath murdering in an animalistic fashion, but I later learned it was a vampire. I never looked back; I've been hunting since before you met me. I promise that I never took you into a hunt- not intentionally. I have been trying to keep you safe. I thought I was, but the demon has torn apart that illusion. It appears I cannot keep you safe and separated from the supernatural." Sherlock felt a weight lifting with each word.  Silence hung for a few minutes.

"What do we do now?" John asked.

"I suggest we continue. We keep solving cases, some supernatural. But I will never take you into a hunt where you can get hurt," Sherlock said, fearing that John would not take to this idea. The door opened. John looked up at Sherlock.

"Shall I see if there's a case? Since I solved this one," John said. A smile pulled at the corners of Sherlock's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long.  
> And that's it's not very good, but if I don't give it you now, I won't ever.


	10. Paths slowly Entwine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short one.

 

_"What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams."  ― Werner Herzog_

The Winchesters sat on the sofa, John in his chair, the Doctor leaning on the desk, glancing at the papers on the surface. They had finished making this place unbreakable for demons, whilst explaining to John and the Doctor about the monsters that live in the dark.

"Where's Sherlock gone?" Sam asked.  John just sighed.

"I don't know. Usually he would say he went on a case or to Scotland Yard. But now I'm not sure- not that I ever knew entirely," John said.

"Well you know he's not somewhere drunk in a bar," Dean said.

"Well that would be the day hell froze over," John said. Dean bit the inside of his cheek.

"Do you want another drink before you leave?" John asked. "I think we have a few beers in the fridge." Sam looked at Dean, and smiled.

"Sure, we'll stay a little longer for a couple cold ones." Dean said.

* * *

 

Sherlock took a few deep breathes before striking the match. He watched as the flames crawled closer to his fingers.  Before the dancing heat could lick his skin he dropped the match into the bowl. The flames quickly consumed the ingredients of the ritual.

Sherlock looked out into the dimly lit building. Natural light streamed through the misty glass panes of the house. It was empty. Inhabitants were long gone. The building had stood vacant for over a year. A chill passed through the air. The hairs on Sherlock's arms prickled.

"Hello Sherlock." The cold Irish accent filled the silence. Sherlock's eyes flickered over Moriarty's form.

"I see you've been collecting chess pieces. Assembling your pawns. Ready for a game?"  Moriarty said with a smile.

"They're allies. I'm not here to play." Moriarty pouted in mock-offense. Sherlock ignored him.

"Did you send a demon to possess John?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty stared blankly.

"No. I wouldn't do something so dull to hurt little Johnny boy." Sherlock skin crawled as rage clawed at his insides. "I'm slightly insulted that you think I'd be so tame," Moriarty said.

"I thought you might be getting desperate. You look bored," Sherlock said mockingly.

Moriarty nodded slowly, thinking to himself.

"I am bored. And you have a group of 'allies' who could provide entertainment. You want entertainment. They want to stop the apocalypse." Moriarty stated. Sherlock slowly nodded. "How about we play a game? The prize is the information on how to stop the apocalypse." The corners of Moriarty's mouth turned up into a smile. Sherlock froze.

"Why should I trust you?" Sherlock asked.

* * *

 

"Well, thank you for helping us- and giving us an excuse to visit London," Sam said as he shook John's hand and threw a look at the Doctor. The Doctor smiled.

"I don't know how you put up with Sherlock. You must have the best patience," Dean said, smiling at John."But thanks John, really," he said as he shook John's hand. John smiled in return.

"And thanks, Doc, for the break in the usual hunts." Dean said as he walked over to shake the Doctor's hand.

"Thank you for explaining what the universe has instead of aliens on Earth." Dean smiled. Usually people don't thank you for dropping the bomb on the supernatural.

"Good, you haven't left," Sherlock said as he strode into the apartment. "I have a proposition for you." Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"You stay in London. You help me solve cases that Moriarty throws at us. And if we solve them or in his eyes win, he'll tell us how to stop the apocalypse." 

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple times, trying to find some words.

"There's a way to stop the apocalypse?" Sam asked.

"Yes, according to a source. What do you say? Are you in?" Sherlock asked.

After a pause, Dean asked "What's the first case?"

**Author's Note:**

> Timelines are hard to fit together, so Sherlock is before Reichenbach fall, Supernatural is before Swansong (as said in the blurb) and the Doctor is the Tenth generation and is after Journeys End and is going through a mash-up of Waters of Mars and End of time. It’s not the clearest at the moment but the timelines weave together throughout the story.


End file.
